


Beautiful

by glitterpop



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, Monster Reaper, Other, Physical Abuse, Reaper is hot and cold and pretty desperate, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpop/pseuds/glitterpop
Summary: Reaper thinks you're beautiful... doesn't he? Reaper wants you... doesn't that mean he gets to keep you? Don't you want him too? Don't you?





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> UHM PLEASE READ THE TAGS OR THIS PART THIS AIN'T A FLUFF STORY IF THAT'S WHAT Y'ALL ARE LOOKIN FOR!!!
> 
> Another Reaper story! It's different from my first one! I'm making an effort this year to write daily, so I guess I'll just write what I like, and I guess this time it was a Reaper that is a little... weird. I hope you guys like it!

Awareness trickles in slowly; you think maybe you’re in your bed, but you feel so uncomfortable. Your wrists chafe and sting, as do your ankles. Your head… God, but did your head ache. Twisting your neck, you can feel something crinkle and flake on the back of it, on your scalp. So uncomfortable… why can’t you see? You blink and blink and twist your arms, but they don’t move and you still can’t see. There’s no light in your room to adjust your eyes to… but there’s a window in your room. There should be light. You’re not in your bed, you think, you’re not because you never fall asleep sitting up.

There’s something in your mouth.

You push at it with your tongue, but it won’t budge. There’s a tugging sensation, when you nudge whatever it is, that wraps around your head. You blink unseeing eyes and keep testing, and as more and more awareness enters you, the faster your heart begins to beat.

It’s a gag.

Panic sets in quick. You twist and turn your body but it won’t budge; what feels like rope is tied around your wrists and torso, pinning you to what feels like a very uncomfortable chair, and your ankles are bound together to one of the legs of it. The chair slides a little with your thrashing, but it doesn’t seem like you’re strong enough to move it much more than that. You’re completely pinned, and terror sweeps over you so quick it steals your breath away. The next breath you take in you begin to scream with, the sound muffled by the gag.

“Don’t do that,” a voice whispers from behind you, and the scream gets caught in your throat and you choke on it. Silence stretches and you strain your ears, but you don’t hear anything else. There doesn’t even seem to be anyone breathing, though you aren’t sure you’d be able to hear with how your own breaths are panting short and quick out of you.

“Be quiet,” the voice comes again, raspy and masculine and dark enough to make you shudder, a soft murmur from the darkness. “Precious thing, be quiet…” Something cold and metallic strokes the back of your neck, feather light, gentle. A strangled whimper escapes you, but you dare not scream again. The full weight of the situation begins to dawn on you; trapped and bound in a room you can’t see anything in, with someone that isn’t helping you. You try to control your breathing, but the more you try the more you find you can’t.

Tears come to your eyes and a single broken sob escapes you. Long moments pass as the tears trickle down your face before the same metallic touch comes to your cheek and wipes them away. It feels like fingers, but you’re not sure you’ve ever felt fingers this cold and hard before. The fingers travel down and a hand cups your chin, a single digit coming to rest on your lips over the gag. Still, nothing from behind you, not even breathing you’re sure of now.

Where are you? What happened? The last thing you remember is walking home from a closing shift, a path you’d always taken, well-lit and safe. You’d waved at joggers, even. It wasn’t that late. What happened? How could this have happened?

What, what, what…

The hand at your chin slides down and wraps loosely at your throat, and a hum vibrates through the darkness, vibrates through your whole body with a deep shudder.

“Are you beautiful?” the voice, definitely male, asks, and you feel the breath in your chest freeze.

“Mmf!” you say, words unintelligible through the gag, but you’re disregarded.

“Are you beautiful?” he asks again, sounding angry. The hand at your throat tightens. “I used to know… I used to be able to tell!” As he speaks the hand grows tighter and tighter. “I used to know! I used to fucking know! Are you beautiful? Are you? Why don’t I know?” He’s yelling right in your ear now and you can’t breathe through the pressure on your neck. You feel like something is starting to puncture your skin and you begin to thrash again, letting out as much of a scream as you can. It comes out as more of a panicked wheeze, but the hand drops immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, bringing his cold hand beck up to your face. “Forgive me… I saw you walking and… it reminded me of being alive. I thought… Are you beautiful?”

You don’t understand, _you don’t_ , he won’t take the gag out and you don’t know what to do. Everything in you feel watery with fear and you shake your head, a refusal of your situation.

“I want you to be beautiful,” he says, voice right in your ear. Lips brush against your skin, cold and dry, and it burns where they touch you and you let out a small, distressed moan. “I haven’t _wanted_ in so long… I want… Does that make you beautiful? Me wanting it? Does it? I want it to. I want it to mean something for once… for once…”

The hand leaves your face and, a second later, footsteps begin to ring in the empty room. You can barely hear his progress over the frantic beat of your heart, but you manage to track his progress until he’s standing in front of you.

“I used to be beautiful,” he says, and something heavy drops into your lap. You feel something press against you over the fabric of your jeans, lips, his lips, his head is in your lap and he’s pressing idle kisses to your thighs. You shake in terror but he disregards it, keeps his head where it is. “I think I was. I think… yes, I was. People loved me, wanted me… They used to want me. I was wanted… I liked it, I liked being wanted, I _wanted_ … but I haven’t wanted in so long…” His hand comes to rest on your knee, stopping your legs from trembling under him. “I haven’t been wanted in _so long…_ ”

He falls silent, keeps kissing your thighs. You’re too scared to move, to breathe, you can do nothing but sit in bound silence and let him kiss you and kiss you and kiss you…

“Do you know,” he starts, lifting his head, “why you’re beautiful?”

You really don’t.

“Your heart,” he whispers, sounding awed, sounding angry. “It’s so loud, I can hear it beating. I can hear it beating rooms away.” He puts his head back in your lap. “I can hear it right now, beating its way out of your chest… Beating hard, beating fast… Beautiful, beautiful…” His hands come to rest on your thighs, stroking from hips to knees slowly. “I heard it while you were walking, beating softly, and it drew me in. It was… magnificent. I’d never heard anything like it… and I _wanted_ …”

Your lap is growing wet under where his mouth his as he speaks, it feels like he drools on your lap. You wish you could see, you wish you could _see_ , but the room is so dark, there’s nothing to adjust your sight to, nothing you can do but feel a strange man drool onto your lap, talking nonsense in your ear.

“So I took you,” he says, simple as that. Simple like your world wasn’t crashing around your ears, like he wasn’t destroying you from the inside out. “I’ll keep you, and you’ll be beautiful.”

He pulls away.

Your chest expands in his absence, lungs filling with your first deep breath since he first began to talk. Chest heaving, you listen as he prowls the room. Suddenly, light floods your eyes and you shriek, slamming them closed. The light stays focused on you and you slowly start to blink them open, eyes adjusting painfully. You look and see claw tipped gloves clutching a flashlight trained on you, nothing but a black mass beyond it.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, very beautiful. Just like I want.” He reaches an arm out, runs claw-tipped fingers through your hair. “More beautiful than me,” he says, sounding bitter now, “but you’re alive. Of course you’re going to be more beautiful than a _fucking corpse_.” He strokes your hair, over and over. He watches you cry and touches your face, your tears, you still can’t see him but you don’t need to in order to be afraid of him. “You won’t want me,” he says, mostly to himself. “I know you won’t. I haven’t been wanted in so long… no one wants something that should have stayed dead.”

He takes his hand from your face and turns the flashlight on himself.

A long, long minute passes where your breath is caught painfully in your throat, and then you begin to scream.

 _Corpse_ , he’d called himself, and while you’d been too scared to think too much about it, you see now he wasn’t lying to you. He’s wearing a tattered black jacket, hood drawn up but hiding none of his face—

What’s left of his face.

He’s made of what looks like liquid, writhing shadows and rotted, puffy grey skin. The skin itself has blistered open and you can see the raw, sickly red-pink of muscle and, underneath, the stark white of bone. The shadows move to cover the unprotected skin, but it only uncovers more rot and bone. He doesn’t have eyes, you don’t think, just more shadows in the sockets. Under the light, the shadows in his eye sockets seem to glow red from within. His lips are cracked and pulled back, showing what’s left of his teeth; the empty holes where teeth used to be ooze something thick and tar-like, what you can only assume is his blood. His mouth opens and you see his tongue, desiccated and bone white, it pokes out between his lips and you scream again, there are bugs, there are _maggots_ crawling out of his tongue, and now you see more, more and more crawling out of his rotted face, you can see, oh _God_ you can see, you wish for the darkness now more than anything.

The light clicks off.

“I told you,” he says, sounding well and truly furious now. “I fucking told you! I knew you wouldn’t want me! Why? You think this is my fault? _Do you think I asked to die_?”

Something, what feels like a boot, hits you square in the chest. You and the chair go sliding backwards and you begin to cough and wheeze violently behind the gag, breath lost at the hit.

“I didn’t want to wake up,” he tells you, and you hear him stalking towards you. “I didn’t even know I _could_ wake up, but I did. Do you know what it’s like, being beautiful and then suddenly being _a monster_?” He backhands you hard, and your mouth fills with the coppery tang of blood. “I don’t even have the option of _killing myself_ , I can’t even end my own suffering! And it _is_ suffering… knowing you shouldn’t exist anymore, having people _look at you_ and know you shouldn’t exist…”

Another kick knocks the chair, and you, onto your side. You’re still struggling to catch your breath, still have his face burned into your mind. You can do nothing but tremble on the floor as he circles your prone body.

“When I woke up, I was given a new name. Out with the old, they said… They called me Reaper. They called me by death’s name, and I thought… if I couldn’t be who I was… I got used to it though, I accepted it. What other choice did I have? It was fine. It was fine… and then I saw you. I saw you and _wanted_ … I thought…”

He trails off into silence, and you try to test your bounds again, hoping something slipped when he knocked you about. Everything’s still tied tightly, though, and the man—monster— _Reaper—_ puts his boot on your side when he hears you struggling.

“I thought it could be different,” he finishes. “I thought, since I _wanted_ all of a sudden… and you’re so beautiful… but I’m not. I’m not, and you don’t want me. Now…” He must have crouched down because you feel his hand on your face, stroking, stroking, gentle with you suddenly. “Now you’re still so beautiful… but as long as that’s true, you’ll never want me. I’ll make you ugly. I’ll make you suffer, just like I did.”

His touch leaves, his entire _presence_ leaves. The weight of his being is gone from in front of you, but you still can feel him somehow. Somehow, he still circles you, faintly, touch misty, leaving imprint on your skin that feel oily and awful. You stay still, tremble on the floor, wait…

“You’ll have no choice but to love me, if I make you ugly like I am.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from right inside your head and you moan feebly, want to protest, to scream and beg, you want the gag off, you want up, you want to _wake up_ from what has to be a nightmare—

Except he’s gone for real now, and all you can do is wait.

**Author's Note:**

> [oh my god ive tried like 5 times now to remember how to link back to my tumblr Please Work](http://www.spookypanties.tumblr.com)


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